Chapter 16
ANYA
I stand in the stunning Kopolov family kitchen, mustering up the sternest voice I can, which doesn’t hold a candle to Semyon’s.
"Stefan, you listen to Zoya and any of the other people here," I tell him, petrified that my brother is going to do something reckless and the Kopolovs won't be too happy about it. I know how Rafail is. Jesus, I know how Semyon is.
"He'll be fine," Zoya says with a smile. "Won't you? We'll make popcorn and watch a movie."
Stefan gives her a side look. "Do you watch superheroes?"
"I love superheroes. Spider-Man is my favorite."
Of course she would love Spider-Man with his self-deprecating ways and nerdy teenage awkwardness. I love that. I give Zoya a little smile. "Superman's mine."
If Semyon understands the reference, he doesn’t let on .
I don't like being separated from Stefan. We've been through so much in a short amount of time, and I worry about what it's going to do to him. But then I watch him with Zoya, and I see him smiling. When I look at Semyon, there's something about the steadfast way he watches all of us that brings me a small measure of comfort.
"Where are you going?" Stefan asks, his eyes darting between Semyon and me. "With my sister?"
My heart. My fierce little protector. Semyon gives him a little smirk, almost a smile. "We have some information to find, and we believe some of what we need is back at your home. Is there anything you want us to get for you while we're there?"
"You're going back home with her? I’m coming.”
Oh, Stefan.
I shake my head. "You can't. It isn't safe right now. You need to stay here where you're protected."
"If it's not safe for me, why is it safe for you ?"
Stefan gets that glint in his eyes, the one he always has when he wants to fight and gets himself into trouble. Semyon steps forward and bends down so that he and my brother are at eye level.
"Your sister is safe because she's with me.”
And I feel it in my bones, carved into my heart. He means it. He means every word. A lump rises in my throat, and I'm not sure if it's because of my brother's protection or… my husband .
I used to feel safe with him. But then he changed. Or did he?
And for the first time, I wonder… Maybe I was the one who changed.
Maybe our circumstances did. Because right now, standing in the kitchen with the boy I loved by my side, I wonder if there's a small part of my heart that doesn't love him still. After all these years.
"Let's go,” Semyon says, reaching for my hand and lacing my fingers through his. Our palms meet. I have to draw in a breath.
"Semyon, if Eli was taken?—”
"Yeah, I know,” Semyon says wryly. "If he survives this, he’ll fucking kill me.”
I can’t help but smile.
"Remember that time?"
"The time he found us soaked to the skin in the shed. All I was trying to do was keep you warm." He shakes his head. "Yeah, I remember that."
I thought Eli was going to murder Semyon. I'd never seen him hit anybody before, but he landed a right hook squarely to Semyon's jaw.
And I knew Semyon could fight—I'd seen him in action, and the vicious, calculating way he moved gave me nightmares. But with Eli, he didn't even raise a hand to defend himself.
My brother didn't believe him. I screamed at him to stop and dragged him off of Semyon.
“Did he hurt you?” Eli asked.
Hurt me? Hell, yes, he hurt me. But not in any way that my brother would understand.
“We talked about that on more than one occasion,” Semyon says with a wry half smile as we head outside. He never really smiles in a way that reaches his eyes. Always guarded. Always distant.
“Did you?” I ask him curiously.
"Yeah.”
Semyon opens the car door. I reach for the handle of the car on autopilot, not processing what I'm doing, when a low growl makes me freeze.
Oh. Right. I don’t open my own door when he’s around.
He reaches for the door to unlatch it, opening it for me. "That was a close one, Anya,” he warns. “Do you really want to have that talk if you disobey me?”
I squirm as a delicious thread of need claws through me.
I’m warming to it.
"What do you have to search back at your home?" he asks me, changing the subject as he slides into the driver’s seat. His car is impeccable, immaculately clean, and not a speck of dust. I note everything. The way it starts right up, the gas tank is full, no flashing lights on the dash indicating it needs to be serviced.
I don't know why I'm focused on these details now. It feels like they matter .
"I'm hoping we can access his computer and the phone that he left behind. My father will be out."
Semyon's jaw tightens as he pulls onto the road and begins to accelerate. "I knew your father before he was an alcoholic. I knew him when he was sober."
I look out the window. "Yeah. Me too."
We don't speak for long minutes. "What time does he usually come home?"
“Later.”
I glance at the clock. We probably have two hours. My nerves rise the closer we get to home—no. Not home. I don’t live there anymore. There’s no small measure of relief when it comes to that.
I don't want Semyon to see the shit I grew up in. It's nothing he hasn't seen before, but now that I'm married and know what his home looks like, I’m embarrassed.
"You're wringing your hands, Anya." I'm not sure if he's expecting a response when his large hand comes to rest on my knee and gives me a gentle squeeze.
I didn’t realize the way I was nervously tapping my knee, clearing my throat, and tugging at a lock of my hair. Did he actually notice those things too?
His hand slides slowly on my thigh, flexing. I remember the kiss earlier. I remember when I was a girl how badly I would've done anything to have Semyon's attention like this. To have him touch me.
"You kissed me once," I say quietly .
"Jesus,” he curses.
I blink at him in surprise. “What?”
“Anya, honey, I held myself back so “many fucking times,” he says, shaking his head.
I want him to say it again.
"I was obsessed with you, but you were too young for me, and my world was too dangerous.”
I look at him sideways and move his hand further up my leg.
"And I'm old enough now?”
"Yeah, baby, and you’re as fucking dangerous as I am."
Baby.
Me ? Dangerous? He cuts his gaze to me, those beautiful blue eyes hidden behind his glasses. "Do I look like the kind of person who exaggerates?"
Thump.
My heart.
I distract myself on my phone when a text comes in from Ophelia.
Ophelia
Um, you know the other day you got that bad review you told me about?
Yeah
Semyon wasn’t the only one I cried to.
Ophelia
Sooooo. Did you hear what happened to him?
Oh no. I give Semyon a sidelong glance before I reply.
No?
Ophelia
He’s in full body cast, Anya. And that small bookstore across town that gave you the glowing review?? They posted on social media today that someone made an enormous anonymous donation.
I narrow my eyes at Semyon. “Semyon,” I say warningly.
“Mmm?”
I gulp. “Did you beat up the asshole who left me the terrible review?”
“Well, not directly… ”
“Semyon!”
He frowns, a crease forming between his brows. “No one treats my wife that way, Anya,” he says, as if that’s the natural order of things. To him, maybe it is.
No. Not maybe.
I’m quiet for long minutes. "And all this time," I say in a whisper, “I thought you hated me."
" Hated you? Are you fucking kidding me?" He shakes his head. “I’m half-tempted to pull this car over right now just to put you over my knee for that. ”
I stare. His eyes dart to the side of the road, as if looking for a place to actually park. My pulse spikes. The tension between us is palpable.
“Um. Let’s save that for later,” I whisper. “We have work to do. Also, I’m…sober now.”
“I’m aware.” I watch as he breathes in through his nose and out again. Finally, he nods.
“I don’t hate you and never have. I distanced myself because I didn’t want to hurt you.” His voice lowers. “There’s a difference.”
In silence, we turn down my street. He parks the car. “Now, baby, let’s get this over with so I can get you back home to myself.”
I turn to him and let my head fall to his shoulder.
No one treats my wife that way.
At first, he freezes as if he doesn’t remember what to do.
Then he opens his arms. I tuck my head into the crook of his neck, and his arms come around me.
“Do you like that, Anya? Does that feel nice? If it does, I need to know. I need to learn how to… comfort you.” His voice lowers to a half growl as he welcomes me closer, his arms tightening. “C’mere.”
I blink back hot tears, my voice a shaky whisper. “Yeah. I like this.” I smile. “You’re doing great. Just like you did the other night.”
He strokes his hand down the length of my back, leaving a trail of goosebumps. “I like that too.” He sounds almost surprised.
The moment feels fragile, like a dream I’m afraid to wake from. I blink back the tears and sit up.
We have work to do.
“Let’s do this.”
“Yeah,” he says in a husky whisper. “Let’s go. But we can come back to this whenever you want.”
I can’t help it. I lean in and kiss his prickly, stubbled cheek before I sit back in my seat and let him come and open my door for me.
Then I remember we’re going to my home and how I hate that he’s here with me.
When Semyon looks around my apartment, I feel something tighten in my stomach. It's not the first time he's been here, but I wonder if he's forgotten?—
"You did a beautiful job here, Anya. I remember what it was like growing up, and I can see that you put your touch everywhere."
I could be hormonal, but I think that might be one of the nicest things anybody's ever said to me. There are very few people in this world who know your history—your siblings, your parents, a childhood friend. But Semyon… he's one of them. He knows. It's one of the reasons why I've never been able to trust him.
"Thank you," I say, turning my back to him so he doesn’t see the tears shining in my eyes. What is wrong with me? I’m an emotional basket case .
"I remember every detail of this place, and I can see how hard you’ve worked."
I don’t even know if Semyon has a clue what he's saying to me or how it's making me feel. He's so detached, so clinical.
I don’t think he sees things the way other people do, and hell, if that isn’t one of the things I love most about him.
“His phone is in my bedroom.”
Semyon frowns and shoves his hands in his pockets but doesn’t respond. He trails behind me, taking in every detail as if staking the place.
When I get to the room, I open my top drawer filled with what my mother would’ve called my "unmentionables." I pull it open and rifle through the soft satin and lace in shades of pink, white, and black… one of the few things that did not belong to my mother. These are all mine .
I like wearing sexy underwear and bras; they make me feel pretty, special—almost like I have a little secret no one else knows. Ophelia’s family owns a clothing business, and whenever they discounted items, she’d bring me in. I’d pick out something here and there, and her father would exchange them for loaves of bread and muffins instead.
"It’s right—" That’s when I see Semyon staring. I freeze mid-sentence and give him a curious look. "What?"
"I take it back," he says in a rough whisper.
"Take what back?"
"I told you not to bring your clothes back. That drawer… Fucking empty it. I want to see you in every one of those when we get home. "
I stare at him, my hand embedded in the drawer of silk and satin undergarments.
Is he serious?
"All right…"
“Do you have the phone?” he asks, his voice tight. He looks around my childish bedroom, which hasn’t changed much since he knew me. I still have the rickety bookshelf with my favorite books, the faded pink duvet, and the secondhand furniture my mother painted white. A room frozen in time.
“It’s in here,” I say, wondering why he’s suddenly gone rigid, his look murderous. “What’s the matter?”
My pulse quickens with the intensity of his gaze.
“What’s the matter?” he growls. “If you don’t get me out of here, I’m going to—” He bites his words off and shakes his head. “I’ve wanted you for so goddamn long. I’ve held myself back, Anya, and I don’t know how much restraint I have left in me.”
I blink, his words sending a shiver down my spine. “You… you’ve wanted me?”
His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, one single moment, the years between us disappear. It’s just Semyon, my childhood dream crush, and I’m just his best friend’s sister.
“Always,” he whispers. “But not like I do now. Not when you were too young. I buried it, kept my distance. Kept you safe. But now there’s no fucking reason for me not to lay you on that pink bed and ruin you.”
I stare at him, our mission forgotten. My hatred for him a distant memory. I stare at the only man I’ve ever loved and say what I know will break his tightly held restraint.
“Do it.”
A thrill runs through me when he snaps. He lifts me in his arms, and my legs wrap around him, my arms around his shoulders. His thick cock pulses between my legs, and my sex throbs. I ache for him, even as I fear what it will feel like.
His lips brush the shell of my ear. “I saw the way your face fell when we came in here. Today will be the last day you ever darken these doors. But I want your last memory of this place to be one you cherish, Anya. One that’s burned into your memory and erased all others before it.”
I blink back tears. I’m a wreck. My arms encircle his neck. “Semyon, you already have.”
His eyes meet mine, and this time, they aren't cold but engulfed in flame. “Strip, baby, and spread your legs. I want to taste you.”
With shaking hands and my heart racing, I tug off my clothes. His hands meet mine, helping me. Impatient. My need grows.
“Hands by your side, Anya.” He nudges my knees apart with his.
I do what he says obediently despite my pounding heart. He slips off his glasses. Folds them. Tucks them next to my leg on the bed. Sinks to the floor and drapes my legs over his shoulders.
Oh my god .
The next thing I know, his eyes are closed, and he's inhaling my fragrance with a groan as if he's going to lose his self-control. Something about my stoic, possessive, utterly controlling husband losing his mind at my scent alone makes me want to cry.
He plants a kiss to my sex, and my hips jerk. His eyes meet mine with a wicked glint, holding my gaze as the tip of his tongue sinks between my folds.
Oh. Dear. God .
I've never felt anything like this in my life. I feel vulnerable and excited and so damn wet. I want more of him, but at the same time, I want to hide.
He licks again with the flat of his tongue. The sound of his groans fills the room.
Pausing, he laps at my inner thigh. “You drive me fucking insane," he growls. “ No one makes me lose control but you, Anya. Only you .” His tongue finds my clit as he traces my entrance with his fingers. “ Khristos ,” he says on a moan. “You’re so fucking wet. This is what I want, love. I want you wet for me before I take you. I need to make sure that you're ready for me.”
My head falls back, and I’m lost to sensation again. He licks down the length of my slit, spreads my legs, and pokes his tongue in my core. I squirm as delicious heat trickles through me. I moan, letting myself go, lost to pleasure that only Semyon can give.
My god, it feels so good . My eyes flit by the bookshelf, still filled with the books I read as a little girl.
I know then that he’s right. My memory of this place will never be the same. I'll be forever changed because of Semyon—because of what we're doing on my pale-pink bedspread in my terrible apartment that holds nothing but bad memories for me.
I'll remember this.
Us .
I'm so turned on that every stroke of his tongue pushes me closer to the edge.
“How does that feel?” he asks, and I realize then he wants direction.
“Yes,” I whisper when he suckles, and when it’s too much, I rake my fingers in his hair. “Oooh, easy. Yes, yes, like that.”
The flat of his tongue presses before he sucks again and circles my clit.
I can feel the first spasm of pleasure coming, my need increasing, my ability to hold self-control gone.
“Come on my mouth, baby.” His hot breath brands my inner thighs. “Come on my tongue. I want to hear you. Let yourself go, Anya.”
My hips jerk, my breath is a moan, a scream I don’t recognize escapes my lips, and then I come. My climax is so hard I'm boneless, pleasure wrecking every cell of my body. My vision blurs, my pulse races, electric waves of pleasure washing through me and erasing all else.
He licks me to perfection, and when he's done, and I sag onto the bed half spent, he drags the back of his hand across his mouth and meets my eyes with a wicked, rare smile that makes my heart flutter in my chest.
“You liked that,” he says with obvious pride.
“Armph,” is all I can say. I’m incapable of actual words.
I watch him in a daze as he unbuckles his belt and tugs it through the loops. Then he unfastens his pants and pushes them down, his thick cock springing free.
I want him inside me so bad I’m practically salivating.
A nervous flutter tickles across my chest. I've never seen a man this close before, not like this. Ophelia and I have giggled over videos and pictures and things we read online, but this—this is next level.
He still wears his T-shirt, but it clings against the planes of his muscles as if the fabric worships him like I do.
“I'll do my best to take you slow," he begins.
"Please don't,” I say in a whisper. "Please."
"Jesus fucking Christ," he growls before he leans his weight on me and presses the head of his swollen cock to my soaking hot center. I hold my breath, but he only shakes his head. "Breathe, Anya,” he says, bending his mouth to my neck and kissing me there. I giggle because it tickles, but it still makes me wet. “Spread your legs. Relax. Don't tense up; you can't tense up."
His voice is so soft and gentle it’s hard to imagine why I hated the man I thought of as being so cold.
He slides the head of his cock inside me, and I let out a moan .
“Did that hurt?” he asks, trembling with the effort of holding himself back.
I shake my head. “A little.”
“Alright, baby,” he whispers in my ear. “Let me make it better.”
The first thrust brings both pain and pleasure. So much pleasure.
Too much. Too good.
My pulse races. I was unprepared for the way this feels. My arms encircle his neck. He stills inside me, the walls of my pussy hugging his cock. "Are you all right?” he asks quietly in my ear.
I nod. “I’m so good,” I whisper back. “But you need to move, or I might die.”
I'll do anything to see the corner of his mouth quirk up again like that. The fleeting smile feels like a victory. My cold strategist disarmed. He obliges, pulling back before thrusting in again, a slow, deliberate rhythm that makes me whimper as pleasure unfurls inside me.
Each movement pulls me in deeper as he thrusts, building a rhythm of pleasure and pain.
“Anya,” he whispers.
My nails bite into his shoulders as my world shatters into brilliant shards. My climax blinds me, overwhelms me, wrecks me. He pumps into me, spilling his hot seed with a groan as we come together .
His forehead meets mine. Our breaths mingle, and our fingers entwine.
Vulnerability flashes in his eyes before he blinks it away, but I see it. I savor it. I cherish it.
The man hidden beneath the cold facade… scarred, burdened, but so capable of what terrifies him more than any enemy ever could.
With a kiss to my shoulder, he cocoons me in the pink blanket.
A door opens outside the room.
“In here.”